So here I am. Drunk. Again.
You’d think I’d have a system for managing this by now. I’ve got a system for almost everything else. This drinking thing … no perameters … no limitations. I drink (alcohol) I get drunk. That’s the process. That’s the desire and the result.
Aged Mother is snoring. When she wakes up I’ll feed her avocadoes. She likes them. They are different from the noodles and tofu that generally makes up her dinner.
I’ve called Fuzzball and the Brazillian. Later I’ll call the Lone Ranger. Right now I’m too … out of it … to talk about how out of it I am. Nizzibet will no doubt be upset at me. Yay! ‘Cause if you can’t be upset at your mate for getting wasted when he’s promised to stay sober, who the hell can you get upset at? Stupid alocoholic spouses….